Home Run
by Katbin
Summary: Everyone breaks down, sooner or later. The Waste does that to people. CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR FO3 MAIN PLOT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.


In the minutes that pass after my father's death I put myself on autopilot. There's no time to acknowledge the clenching in my gut or the shake in my steps. There are people that depend on me, I'm in charge of keeping them alive. I intend to do just that. Enough people have died today, I don't need to see more. I couldn't take seeing anyone else fall. I grit my teeth and soldier forward, one foot in front of the other, one bullet after another. Focus. Breathe. Survive.

The scientists that scurry behind me are in various stages of shock. Some have gone silent, eyes wide with disbelief. Others have placed themselves in the same boat that I have. There's no time. No time at all. They know just as well as I do that there are people following us that would cheer and dance over our dead bodies. The instinct to survive is strong in all of us today and they do their very best to keep up.

Charon is to my right, silent as ever, but there's something different about him. There's a strength coming off of him that he seems to be lending me, something that continuously helps me push myself forward. He hasn't said a word but the look on his face is one that I understand. Not many people would be able to read his expressions, I figure, but I've been traveling with him for so long it's become second nature. 'Just get through this and then we'll make the fuckers pay', his scowl says. I agree with a small nod, square my shoulders and nail one of the goons that are waiting for us right between the eyes. Watching the body crumple instantly and hit the floor helps ease some of the pressure in my chest.

By the time we reach the Citadel the scientists are taking heaving breaths, trying to keep up with the brutal pace that I've set. Li has asked me to slow down several times in that reproachful, pitying voice of hers but I ignore it and press ahead. I don't need her pity. I don't want it. I want to go back into those tunnels and back into the Memorial to kill anyone standing in my path. It's not safe, though, even with all of the firepower I have between Charon and myself. It would be a suicide run and I now know that it will mostly fall to me to finish my father's project. Getting clean water back into the hands of the Brotherhood for distribution is the endgame, not dying in a puddle of my own blood underneath the Jefferson Memorial.

We don't follow them too far into the compound. They've got a safe place to continue their research, we've upheld our end of the bargain. All that I want to do is get as far away from that stupid fucking monument as humanly possible. They don't even notice when I pull Charon's arm to let him know that I'm making an exit. Not a flutter of an eyelash when the two people that kept them alive exit without checking in with whoever's name they gave me.

I want to kill something. Right now. My trigger finger is itching like crazy, my mind is still in survival mode. I'm not ready to come to grips with the fact that my father is dead. I can't accept that I spent all that time looking for him, _months_ , just for him to die within days of being reunited. I can't face the memories of his body falling to the floor of the purification chamber. I can't deal with the memory of not being able to hold him as he died. I let the anger burn bright in the bottom of my stomach, I let it fuel me as I set a course for as far west as I can go.

Not much later we're in the tunnels taking us out of the downtown D.C. ruins. The cool murky air helps me think a little clearer, some of the anger has died down. I'm still running on fury but we're not moving anywhere near as fast as we were before. Charon doesn't second-guess me when I purposefully take the longest possible route. He hands me extra ammo he finds, pulls me up when I slip through a puddle of radiation heavy water, gives me a quick pat on the back when I let out a heavy sigh. He understands that I need to work through this on my own. I knew I liked Charon for a reason. The man _gets it_.

We stop somewhere near the Museum tunnels for a quick break. We've both been running on fumes for a few days now and it's starting to show in things like my aim. Charon checks the immediate vicinity for intruders and calls that it's empty for now. I pull apart an old bench for firewood and start a pathetic little fire. It's enough to warm two cans of pork'n beans. It'll do. We eat our meals making idle conversation about anything that didn't happen in the last 48 hours. Charon gives me a few ideas of places we could check out after we drop things off back in Megaton. I manage to forget for a few seconds. I imagine that my father is still alive and working.

Half way through my can of beans I'm struck with a memory of my father. It's silly, something that I should have forgotten a long time ago. We're eating dinner, Jonas has joined us, and Dad asks to pass the salt. I do so but the shaker lid falls immediately off as soon as he shakes it over his food. Jonas laughs so hard that water shoots out of his nose; I deny ever loosening the top even though we all know that I have. I'd forgotten how much I had been into pranking anyone that I could when I was growing up. They'd been awfully good humored about it all.

The memory makes my stomach churn and I have to put down the can, force myself to swallow what I've been chewing. Charon eyes me warily and I shake my hand to signal that I'll be okay. He raises the skin where his eyebrow used to be and huffs. He doesn't believe me. _I_ don't believe me. The image of my father dying before me flashes to the surface and fights with the happy memory. My stomach continues to wrestle with itself. Eventually I lose the fight and have to launch myself upwards and into motion. I barely make it to an empty and banged up trashcan before the beans reappear. I wonder how long I'll have to fight to hold down my food.

There's a shuffling behind me that's unmistakably Charon looking through his pack. I stay by the garbage can, worried that I might throw up even more, and focus on my breathing. It's still ragged by the time Charon quietly holds out a bottle of water. I take it gratefully and swish the liquid around my mouth before spitting it out, slightly embarrassed that he's seen me like this. He doesn't respond when I thank him in a hoarse voice, instead hands me my rifle. There's no judgment on his face when I look at him, just that look that says he's ready whenever I am.

I give up the idea of resting here. It's still too close and the memory is still far too fresh. Perhaps by the time we get back to Megaton I'll be able to sleep or keep some food in my stomach. There isn't anything for us to shoot at besides the occasional radroach and I curse my past self for being so thorough. We can almost follow our original path by the litter of dead bodies. They're in different stages of decay, which reminds us how long it's been since we've taken certain tunnels. It's a bit reassuring to see that other lowlifes haven't moved into the tunnels in our absence. Maybe we are making a difference in the Wastes. I guess the bodies would be enough to scare them off.

When we finally emerge into the fresh air, it's nighttime. I check my Pipboy, unbelieving that we had been down there that long but it's the truth. With a shake of the head and a humorless chuckle I set us off in the direction of Megaton. The traveling is slow at night; we've got to be especially careful for anything that might be lurking in the shadows of the ruined buildings. I almost wish something would jump out so I could get rid of this restless feeling in my limbs. I'd fire off a few harmless rounds if it wouldn't give away our position.

Reaching the bridge I've dubbed the Super Duper Bridge, Charon moves in front of me and blocks my path. He's seen something that I've missed in my distracted state. Standing behind him is like standing behind a giant, six-foot plus wall of leather and weapons and I have to practically bend at a ninety-degree angle to see around him. I spot his target as soon as he pumps his shotgun. On the other side of Super Duper Bridge, a handful of mercs are waiting for us. Talon Company. Typical. You'd think their boss would get the message after we've killed every group that's come after me. Stubborn bunch.

Their leader yells into the inky blackness, taunting me to 'come and play'. I can't help but roll my eyes and step out and around Charon. He hates it when I do this, but that fire from before ignites like someone's dumped a full can of lighter fluid on it. I've finally got something to shoot. These idiots aren't worth trying to talk to, they never have been. Like a well-oiled machine I raise my hunting rifle to my shoulder and take aim. They don't know that I've fired until one of them yelps and clutches at his leg, collapsing to the pavement.

In the almost nonexistent light we fire at each other for a few moments. My shot was lucky, they're a little too out of range for me to effectively pick them off. I know that we'll have to move much closer if we have any chance of ending this quickly. Charon's a good shot, too, but the range of his shotgun isn't that great. He looks to me as if he's read my mind and we charge over the bridge, praying to whatever god that we won't get shot.

I don't know why I stop to pick up the baseball bat that had long ago been discarded but it proves to be the weapon that I psychologically crack with. Instead of hiding behind some of the small pillars at the halfway mark I continue forward, hearing Charon swear behind me. He'll ream me for this later but I don't stop until the wood of the bat makes contact with a merc's head. Charon takes down the remaining two mercs as I continue to swing at the leader for all I'm worth.

There's a sick crack and crunch as I whack again at his head. I know that he's dead but I keep on with my Babe Ruth impression, girl gone homicidal maniac. The anger and anguish of losing my father seeps into my arm muscles, allowing me to swing over and over even though I should be exhausted. A small part of my brain is horrified of what it sees, terrified of my actions. I'm too numb to even realize that I'm crying.

At my waist, two large arms wrap around and pull me away from the crime scene I've just created. I snap back into myself then and scream like a wild animal, irate that something's stopping me. I hear Charon making noises of a struggle and realize he's trying to wrench the bat from my hands while holding me to his body. I wiggle and tussle, trying to get out of his grasp so I can go back to the pulp of the merc's head. I consider turning around in his grasp so I can bite at him. I've completely lost it.

Eventually Charon decides to hold me as tight as he can until I tire myself out. It doesn't take long; I was already drained by the time we got to the bridge. My thrashing slows until it stops and I remain pressed against him. I take note that he's sat down and I'm resting in between his legs, I hadn't even felt the asphalt beneath me, hadn't even noticed when he'd maneuvered us to the ground. The bat falls from my grasp and clanks, rolling lazily away with its now ruby end. I watch it like its some kind of mobile.

The hiccups come not long after the murderous trance breaks. Heaving, rib breaking sobs that rack my body follow afterwards. I wail and moan like someone's ripped my heart out of my chest but grip to Charon's arms like they're the only things keeping me tethered here. It all rushes to the surface too fast for me to cry it out. I mourn my father and finally come to terms with my loss. The wave of grief almost washes me under and away. Surely a sadness like this could kill a person. In a small moment of clarity I vow to myself that I will never cry like this again, once in a lifetime is enough.

I don't know how long we stay there, I don't know how long I cry. It's still dark when I've been quiet for a while. I shift in Charon's loosened grasp but don't try to leave it. There's something safe about this position that I cling desperately to in my weakness. His chest rises and falls with a reliable and steady rhythm and I can feel his heartbeat against my back. I almost start crying again at the realization that he's seen me at my worst twice now and hasn't left. Had I seen a display like _that_ I would have run for the hills like my life depended on it.

When he finally breaks the silence to ask if I'm good to travel, bits of orange and pink have made their way into the sky. I muster up the strength to reply and slowly leave his hold, wobbling to stand. Again, when I look at his face there's no judgment. He adjusts his pack, which my rifle has now been strapped to, and takes the first step closer to Megaton, not even looking at the mess I've made as he walks past it.

A light feeling ghosts in my chest and tickles at my throat. "I'm sorry, Charon."

He pauses and turns to study me, cloudy eyes looking me up and down, like he's never seen me before and he shrugs. "Let's get home, Kid."

I knew I liked Charon for a reason.


End file.
